


More Intense

by Hello_Spikey



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: M/M, Shanshu Prophecy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 23:12:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17631539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hello_Spikey/pseuds/Hello_Spikey
Summary: LA has gone to hell (literally, a-la “After the Fall” comics), and Angel and Spike both shanshued and are stuck therein.





	More Intense

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rbfvid](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=rbfvid).



> It's the first of the month, so naturally I'm posting last month's mod challenges. (I have a valid excuse involving loads of candy and children in disguises.)
> 
> This is for **rbfvid** who requested: _Could hello-spikey write the above scenario with a decent amount of snark?_
> 
> Well, I think I might have fixated a bit on the word 'snark' but here it is - some human hell-bound Spangel!

“This is awful,” Spike said. He laid on his stomach on the bed, peering out the crack at the bottom of the boarded-up window. “Stuck in ACTUAL Hell and we’re weak little humans again.” He raised a hand, fingers pinching at the air. “The teeniest little Shlubite demon could off the both of us in a heartbeat.”

Angel sighed. Why did he have to be the cheerful one? He wasn’t particularly happy about things, himself, but Spike’s pity party was sucking the life out of him, and he actually had some to lose, now. “You were pretty keen on the shanshu when you fought me for the cup.”

Spike rolled onto his side. His hair was a mess and his bare torso was distractingly pretty. Angel chose to focus on that instead of his scowl and bratty words. “Oh bring that up! You haven’t brought it up for five whole minutes so it must be time. Like I sodding asked for this. Like I wrote a letter to the editor of Powers that Fuck Us Magazine and said, ‘Dear sir or madam, it would be super wonderful to sink all of the city into Hell and make me a vulnerable mortal at the same time. See if you can work that up?’”

Angel sat on the edge of the bed. Spike started to roll away, but Angel took his wrist. “Will you quit moping? It’s not all bad.”

Spike huffed and fell back on the pillows, which were sweat-stained and musty, as was everything in the close little apartment they’d retreated to. “Did you just say HELL isn’t all bad? Did you miss the bloody mission statement?”

“At least it’s a hell where we can hide. At least we are safe, so far.”

“Counting out the finite days of our final reward hoping a demon shows up within eyesight with his pants down and a weapon nearby?”

Angel felt his teeth grinding. He had to stop doing that – he could damage them now. Slowly, he forced his muscles to unclench. He looked at Spike’s arm, lying palm-up on the yellowed sheet. He picked up the slender wrist and felt the pulse jump against the pad of his thumb. “It’s not all bad, being alive.” He brushed Spike’s smooth skin. “It makes things more intense.”

Spike smirked. “That’s a hairy old chestnut, even for you.”

“It’s true. I’ve done this before.”

“You haven’t been alive since hygiene was a novel idea.”

Angel smiled quietly to himself, enjoying the taste of a sad old secret. “Let me prove it to you.”

Spike pulled his arm from Angel’s gentle grasp and gave him such a disgusted look. Then Spike got up and stomped into the next room.

Angel blinked, hardly aware what had just happened. He followed Spike. The other room of the apartment held most of the supplies they’d scavenged – food, medicine, weapons. Spike was tipping everything over and poking into the boxes. He was wearing jeans and nothing else, his bare feet and belly particularly vulnerable against the rough denim.

“What are you doing?” Angel asked.

“Didn’t we have a bottle of whisky? I thought we had at least three bloody bottles.”

“We had four. You drank them all already.”

Spike dropped the box he was rooting around in and scowled down at it like it had drunk the whiskey. “Bugger.”

It wasn’t at all surprising that liquor stores throughout the city had been cleaned out within days of descending to hell. People needed their comforts, and demons just wanted them.

Angel picked up the box and started putting things away. Spike stomped back to the bedroom.

Angel followed. “Are you mad at me?”

“Wow, Liam. Congratulations. Fourteen minutes. A new record in emotional connection.”

“Why the hell are you mad at me?”

“Forget it. It would take too long to explain in emotionally-stunted words and it’s annoying enough being cooped up here with you.”

“All I’ve done is try to make things more pleasant for both of us.”

“No you haven’t. You got all paws and wanted to ravish me.”

Angel put his hands on his hips. “Ravish? Did you honestly just say that?”

Spike picked up his ragged t-shirt, threw it down again and opted to slip on his somewhat less ragged button-down. “Don’t act all innocent. You were acting like a clumsy version of a teen rom-com, leaning over me on the bed, stroking my wrist, promising to ‘show me’ something.”

Angel knew that smiling or laughing would result in the whole thing ending with a fight, so he bit hard on the inside of his lip before speaking. “I seem to recall you didn’t mind ‘ravishing’ all that much the last time.”

Spike stopped inches from him, fist raised. “I was bloody undead!” He stepped back, seemingly a little surprised by the vehemence of his own voice. He cleared his throat. “It’s different, now, so… look, just keep your mitts to yourself, yeah?”

“What’s different?”

Spike rolled his eyes.

“Wait,” Angel said. “Are you still mad? Is that it? I asked, didn’t I? No one said not to attack the black thorn. In fact, I seem to recall yours was the first hand to go up.”

Spike had a little half-smile now, which Angel knew meant Spike thought he was being particularly stupid. “You muppet. It’s me. My fragile, perishable body.”

“You’re just as gorgeous as when I first laid eyes on you.” Angel felt drool building in his mouth as he let the emotion free into his voice. He reached for Spike. His fingertips grazed warm flesh as Spike stepped back.

“Christ. I need to cover up. Or go out. Think I’ll fare better with the demons.” Spike turned away and started buttoning up his shirt.

Angel tried again to put his arms around Spike, who again shrugged him off. Angel made a pained noise. “I don’t get it. Why can’t we make love?”

Spike laughed. “Because you don’t ‘make love’. You ravage. Berk. I’m breakable now so you can’t go throwing me over and against things.”

Angel felt a surge of blood at the words “throwing me over” and momentarily didn’t register the rest of Spike’s words. He shook his head. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Am not. Do you have any idea how long it took me, as a vampire, to recover from our last ‘love making’?”

Angel pouted. “But I’m human now, too.”

“We were equally strong before and we’re equally strong now. YOU don’t know how to hold back.”

“That’s so not true.”

“Well, if it isn’t true, I’m going to have to be really pissed at you.”

Angel wrapped his arms around Spike, tightening his hold this time when he tried to get away. “You liked being ravaged,” he said, and nipped at the deepest point of Spike’s nape.

He felt the gooseflesh rise against his fingers. Spike twitched, sideways, and made a little gasp. “Stop. GAH. That’s…”

“More intense?” Angel smiled against his neck and nibbled some more.

“No,” Spike said.

“So you don’t want me to do it again?”

“I… uh…” Spike shifted in his embrace. Angel took the hesitation as acceptance and latched on, sucking hard.

“Fuck,” Spike said. He spun around in Angel’s arms and met his mouth for a hungry kiss. Their bodies slotted together and despite his protests he arched against Angel, pressing hardness to hardness.

Spike broke the kiss. “This doesn’t mean I’m rolling over for you.”

“I’m not asking you to.” Angel walked Spike backward to the bed until they tumbled together onto it.

“OOF! You big oa-“

Angel licked his way past all protests and pressed their bodies together, despite the heat and the uncomfortable binding of clothing on flesh already sweat-sticky.

It had been hot in Hell since they’d gotten there – hotter even than LA’s usual summer heat, so that all the air conditioners struggled vainly against it and electricity wavered and dimmed with the strain. Had the electrical plants come to hell with them? It was enough to hurt your head.

Angel wondered if half of it wasn’t being unused to the heat of a living body. Certainly he felt like he was continually about to burst into flames from the inside out. Like now, with Spike spilling filthy words into his ears and licking the sweat from his temple.

Spike’s ratty shirt tore and fell aside. Spike’s clever fingers slipped Angel’s belt from tis loops and opened his slacks, pushing them down as Angel kept fumbling and failing with Spike’s top button. His fingers just slipped off of it. “You have to wear such tight –“

Spike licked Angel’s nose. Angel scowled. “Hey.”

With a lift and twist of his hips, Spike’s jeans vanished. Angel found his hands full of luxurious, smooth skin, somehow cooler, like the underside of the pillow. Angel’s mouth followed his hands, wanting to taste that coolness. His lips felt the delicate indents left in Spike’s skin, the seams and texture of the jeans in intaglio.

Spike slipped Angel’s shirt off his shoulders, which was good, Angel was going to get to that, as soon as he finished exploring and teasing the flesh below him.

Spike’s teeth worried the shell of Angel’s ear. “You do know how to charm a bloke, but I’m still not letting you shag me.”

“Oh come ON.”

Spike’s long fingers wrapped around Angel’s cock. “Doesn’t mean there isn’t loads we can do to fill the time.”

Angel grasped Spike’s dick, found it full and rising against his palm. He brushed his thumb through the clear fluid at the tip and rubbed it in and around, then licked the flavor and hummed appreciatively.

Spike squirmed. “Oh, you think you can sweet talk me that way, do you?”

“Hm?” Angel made an obscene slurp of each finger and reached down, jacking Spike with his spit-slick hand. “I don’t sweet talk.”

“And I don’t put out. Not anymore.”

“You’re really missing out.”

“Oh yes, you are altruistically convincing me to take your cock.”

Angel had to admit there was some rather obvious self-interest currently pushing its plumy head into Spike’s abdomen. He redoubled his efforts, squeezing and twisting, leaning down to cradle his balls. Then he sucked on the little indent below Spike’s ear, which always made him squirm.

When Spike hooked his heels behind Angel’s calves and pulled him closer, Angel said, in his lowest, dirtiest voice, “I’ll kiss it all better.”

Spike groaned. “Not good enough.”

“Liar. You’re so hot you’re trying to impale yourself on me.”

Spike stiffened. One heel unhooked. Angel bit his lip. This wasn’t going in the right direction.

He slipped down Spike’s body and took the head of his cock in his mouth. Immediately, the languor returned to his partner’s limbs.

“That’s more like it,” Spike said. “Fuck but breathing hasn’t hurt your cocksucking, mate.”

“Uht uhp,” Angel said, and closed his mouth to suck hard, which was the more sure method of getting Spike to shut up.

Or spill forth a litany of porn-movie moans.

Angel took him deep and slid slowly off, letting the tip pop from his lips so he could lick the underside. He picked up Spike’s legs and nuzzled his sack, and behind, in the heady, musky male scent of him, so much more pungent now he was alive. He flattened his tongue along the taint, pressing in as Spike began to struggle – half-heartedly – and let the natural groove of flesh guide him to the hole that had been his goal all along.

Spike stiffened at first touch, then twisted, trying to get out of Angel’s hold as he teased along the wrinkled pucker.

“That’s your gambit, is it? I don’t buy it for a second. You never rim without… uh… guh…”

Angel knew when the pleasure tipped over, when the desire for more overpowered more rational concerns. He slipped a finger in and reached up to give Spike’s dick a little perk-up. Soon he had Spike rocking shallowly back and forth to his ministrations. Angel’s own cock was heavy and painful with need. He reached down to touch himself, gave the base a calming squeeze. He measured in his head, the distance, what was between. He licked up the join of Spike’s thigh and gave his cock-head some more attention. Spike was languid now, thighs falling open, mesmerized with pleasure. Angel nibbled his way up his abdomen to lick the tiny pink nipples. He nuzzled Spike’s jaw. He felt Spike start to suspect that something was up.

Angel slammed himself home – one hard thrust that met firm initial resistance, despite careful prep. So tight, so hot – so hot it was cold, a refreshing change, a charge all along his skin.

Spike’s icy eyes wide open, as was his mouth, and the anger mixing with surprise, coming to a boil.

Angel quickly covered his mouth with his own. Felt resistance, Spike trying to push him off, but kept it up, a relentless assault of kiss.

And hell if Angel wasn’t a hair-trigger away from spilling. He thrust shallowly, very very shallowly, holding himself at the precipice. He let Spike’s mouth go to nibble his neck again, felt him breathe out hard.

“Well. That was a compelling argument, Peaches. Can’t say I’m swayed.”

“Sh. You’re not even trying.”

“Trying what? To get away from the fat bastard molesting me?”

Angel picked up Spike’s flagging erection and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Let me make it good for you.”

“Little late. Feels like you tore me in half.”

Angel kissed his cheek, licked the salt he found there. “Easy, baby. I said I’d kiss it all better.”

“You’ll be on your knees for a week before you’re done.”

“Promises.”

Angel felt a twitch of interest, the dick in his hand waking up. He licked Spike’s neck and gently teased him to hardness, got him bucking again, except now his back-bucks were onto Angel’s cock – and fuck was that incredible. Angel bit his lip hard enough to bleed, feeling like he only just staved off coming.

Another roll of Spike’s hips and he had to quickly pull out and tug his own balls.

Spike frowned at him, then got a wicked smirk. “Problem, Peaches?”

“I think a stiff breeze will take me over the edge right now,” Angel said.

“Well, you’re lucky – there’s nothing breezy in Hell.” Spike settled back, his hands behind his head. “Come on then.”

“Spike?”

“You said you were going to show me this amazing, intense experience – well, go on. But you’re going to have to keep from blowing your wad, aren’t you? No vampire constitution to perk you right back up again.”

Angel trembled. He licked the head of Spike’s dick again, started jacking it.

“No, no – you get right back where you were, cheater.”

“Spiiike.”

“Mm? This was your idea.”

Angel gave his balls another hard squeeze. The pain was a teaspoon of water on the brushfire of his lust. With firm resolve and concentration – he pictured holding himself back, like a chain tied around his cock, tugging upward through his body – as he sank into the sweet, hot tightness.

The edges of his vision briefly flared white and he actually cried a little, but he held it back. His body was thrumming with the need to come, but he was not going to lose this battle to Spike. Not this time. He locked eyes with his partner, his prey, and genuinely hated the smug little shit just then.

He used the hate. Made himself cold inside and thrust hard. Spike gasped. The third thrust slammed the bed into the wall and plaster rained on them. Spike’s head rolled back, his throat exposed. His legs wrapped around Angel, squeezing him closer, trying to cheat. Angel kept his pace relentless and mechanical, hard, punishing.

“Punishing” was a dangerous word to think. He had to pause, get his breathing down. He had thought he’d pushed the orgasm back, but it was there, just under the surface, ready to spill at a moment’s notice.

He wished he could bite that long, open throat in front of him (more cheating).

He pulled almost all the way out, teased himself with the painful bright perfect pleasure of the tip slipping into that tight pucker. Just in. Just out. Spike groaned and arched toward him. Angel pulled back, keeping just the first inch inside while Spike fought with him.

Then he slammed home, and fucked hard and insistently and harder and harder and faster and faster until they were both screaming and Angel’s vision was entirely red and he’d forgotten even what it was he was trying to do, what he was thrusting for what he was holding and squeezing, when he felt the hot cum gush against him and that imagined chain inside him snapped and he surged forward, spilling out his heart and his guts and everything, his whole body seizing, squeezing, trying to vanish into an infinitesimal point of pure white-hot pleasure.

Somehow, Angel came to himself again, his head resting in a sticky puddle of sweat and cum on Spike’s belly. Spike was playing with his hair, idly teasing locks free from gel.

Angel wapped his hand. “Stop that.”

“You were right. Way the fuck more intense.”

Angel rolled onto his back and his front was grateful for the cooler air. “Yeah,” Angel said.

Spike laughed at him.

They laid together in the perpetual twilight of hell, waiting to regain their strength or ability to move, but for once, content with their lot.

END


End file.
